Reading in the Dark
by Queen of All Night's Dreaming
Summary: We could all use a good read from time to time. The library in the city center was almost forgotten, until one strange character meets another, and things begin to change. Bring a light. Bring a map. Find a book.
1. Chapter 1

The song "Wild Rose" inspired this story and I don't know whom it's by. It seemed very Nny-ish when I began, but I find the song and story no longer have much of anything in common. Please push me to write on this one again. I need to solidify the plot, or at least how best to reveal it, and input is greatly appreciated. Have fun.

Disclaimer: I do not own JTHM or any other hoopbla associated with it. My Beta on the other hand, believes that he owns Johnen Vasquez. I have yet to confirm this.

**Chorus:**

They call me the wild rose,

But my name was Eliza Dei

Why they call me that I do not know

For my name was Eliza Dei…

**Johnny: **

From the first day I saw her

I knew she was the one,

She stayed in my eyes and smiled.

For her lips were the color

Of the roses,

That grew down the river

All bloody and wild…

**Liza: **

When he knocked on my door,

And entered the room,

My trembling subsided in his sure embrace.

He would be my first man,

And with careful hand,

He wiped up the tears

That ran down my face…

Chorus 

**Johnny:**

On the second day

I brought her a flower.

She was more beautiful,

Than any woman I've seen.

I said do you know

Where the wild roses grow,

So sweet and scarlet and free?

**Liza:**

On the second day he came,

With a single red rose.

He said give me your lose

And your sorrow.

I nodded my head,

As I lay on the bed.

"If I show you the roses

Will you follow?"

Chorus 

**Liza:**

On the third day

He took me to the river.

He showed me the roses

And we kissed.

And the last thing I heard,

Was a muttered word

As he knelt above me

With a rock in his fist.

**Johnny:**

On the last day

I took her where the wild roses grow.

She lay on the bank,

The wind light as a thief.

And I kissed her goodbye,

Said all beauty must die,

Then I knelt down

and planted a rose 'tween her teeth.

They call me the wild rose,

But my name was Eliza Dei

Why they call me that I do not know

For my name was Eliza Dei…

My name is Eliza Gwendolyn J. Dei, Liza for short (and it's pronounced Lie-za you flaws). My story is not one that you will enjoy. Hell, I was in it and I hated it! There is no reason for you to put yourself through the pain of my tale, though you must be some kind of masochist for just being here in the first place. Johnny can do that to people. He did it to me, and as I understand, a handful of others that he now refers to as "The Enlightened," people that he had tortured into sentience. These are now twisting in torment in straightjackets and sedative injections everyday of their wonderfully uplifted lives (Johnny does that to people too, but these are not his to torment anymore, that's the government's job now).

If you came looking here for a whirlwind romance, turn the screen off and leave now, because this is not where you will find it. Instead, I will give you the directions to a small cemetery near your town, nearer than you think, and bigger than small implies, and you can search there for hours until you find the headstone. It should still read:

"Love Lost, You Hath Found.

Now Go Home And Weep

You Sad Fool.

Time Indefinite-Time Indefinite"

By now you have probably thought to yourself that this cannot be a very good story and that you should go back to looking for a better one, which is what I have already advised you which proves you were not listening. But suit yourself and read on if shed blood and fermented tears are really subjects of outstanding interest to you.

It was two years ago, in the city that was never specifically named and that I don't care enough to name anyway. I had only just moved into the bustling urban center to become Head Librarian of the National Treasure Literature Archives, or as it is also better known by the moronic lemmings that live there: "That big, old, musty building with books… books make my hed hurt." And, yes, you twits, I am aware that "head" is misspelled in that last sentence. It's called being realistic in the expression of the user. Sigh. A great art is truly dead, and honestly, my writing this can't save it, because no one but the insanely-gifted or the giftedly-insane would read it anyway. But still, I waste the ink…

Upon arriving in the city by airport cab, I directed the cabby to the library I would be taking over. The man of tawny skin and dark eyes looked at me strangely, as if no one had ever asked to be taken to a library before. I tried not to wrinkle my nose in the back seat, where even there, he stank of body odor and some not necessarily medicinal herb that was too sweet a smell. He grunted and put the cab in gear without a word. I was only relieved that he had not breathed on me, or I may to this day still be haunted by the stink of his crooked yellow teeth.

The ride was a short one, and one I do not care to relate for all its traumatizing jostling and one that you would not care to read anyway, save a brief encounter, or near collision, with a deranged, black haired driver in a small gray car that my cabby gave a short but unseen one finger salute. Even still, you would not enjoy reading it, so we shall say we read it and move on without you complaining (suck it up, he comes back in later).

I paid the driver full price, though slightly worse for wear, I should not have. If I had lost my suitcase on the last turn I know I would have refused payment and said something nasty, but none of these things happened. If you are bored though, you may imagine now that I did, provided I had all my things returned to me promptly for later use in the story.

I walked into the library, using the key that had been left to me, the last one to the old brick and white columned building, near, but not in, the city's center. Even as the door sighed open like a gaping mouth of some slumbering beast, I could feel that even if the library had not been closed for several months, it would have seen few, if any, patrons. The sight that met me as I entered the open atrium under the balconies of the upper two levels and the high domed roof, was a heart crippling one for a lover of books. The space was beautiful and well furnished, with marble floors on the first level and hard cedar wood on the others. There were three chandeliers hanging in a row in the long rectangular atrium, made of old style glass that always looks that one particularly romantic and rustic green. The railings on the wide grand staircase were polished cedar that matched that of the lesser stairs of varying styles throughout the library. The shelves upon shelves of books that ran for, what seemed miles, twisting and turning, back and forth, to the point that one could really become lost in these tomes of knowledge. I made a note to myself as I set my bags down next to the great Head Librarian's desk under a huge obscure and fading painting in a gold frame on the wall of the atrium, that I must search out a map of the forest like collection of books or become a victim of its shear vastness. And despite how utterly lovely all of this may sound to the more civilized among us, I am sorry to say that the whole of the structure was lit only by the tall cathedral-like windows, including the rose, or round window high above the librarian's desk around the level of the third floor that faced west, which is a funny thing for such large windows to do. Actually, now that I think about it, there was also a ghost light left on the desk that lit that small part of the room as well, which is only important because the electricity bill for that one lamp was mine to pay for one reason or another.

In any event, the whole of the library was covered in a fine layer of dust, and with the misty and fading sunlight dripping in through the gawking windows in that terribly empty space, it was unearthly quiet. The silence was enough to make one very cold despite any amount of heat, though that is not a good analogy because the building was slightly drafty and very cool anyway.

But enough about the library. By now I am quite sure that you are very bored and ready to give up on this story. For the last time: I encourage you to do so. But for those of you who think you can stomach more of it, you will soon receive a treat, the entrance of a few familiar characters. If any of you think this means that the story is about to become more lively, I am happy to say that, for once, you are right (you can clap with glee now you giddy little sycophants). Unfortunately, you will have to wait due to my own inability to write this chapter in a manner that could have incorporated them. I do apologize, but if you hate me for it, I can assure you that I don't care and that the feeling is mutual.

Author's Note: The style that I'm writing in is one I commonly read over and over in works like the unabridged _Peter Pan_ and other works by J. M. Barrie, but have never attempted to actually write myself. If you find it annoying, screw you; you have no taste for class. I'll admit though, that it takes getting used to but is very pleasant to read once you become accustomed to it. I think that it fits JTHM very well for something so classic, and later on will provide a lovely look at how things are unfolding from several points of view, especially Johnny's, as twisty classics are nothing short of what he as a person really is.

Beta's Note: This is a very good start to what is going to be a witty story (my definition is probably different then yours. Whoo-dee-doo) The author of this story is a good friend of mine and there is nothing about this story that is not like her. She loves to make people think before they actually do something. She loves to make them look more stupid then they (this is a funny thing to watch. Their face starts out nice and normal and average, then after about five minutes of hearing said author speak, their faces gets downsized to that of a… hmm… Author what do their faces get turned into…?

Author: Well they remind me of Squee.

Beta: That's what it is. Sweet!

Well on with the story.


	2. Chapter 2

Chapter Two: Stalkings

By: Devi D.

You know that feeling that you get when someone is watching you? Most people do, and if you do not that makes you a very lucky person. But do you know what it's like to have someone you fear more than a small retarded yellow Sponge watching you? It is, before you answer in the negative (and I hope you would for your own sake), the scariest thing you have ever felt in your life.

It had been months since I had seen Johnny C., but I had the feeling that it was only hours between hours that he didn't see me. Just when I thought that I had locked every door and barred every window, I would get the feeling that I was on a ship that was taking on water and I would feel a shadowy sinking. I'd grab the cordless phone and a can of mace and lock myself in the bathroom of my apartment, the only room without windows. I didn't want him to see me, and I certainly didn't want to see him.

Johnny was stalking me. At least I assumed it. Ever since I escaped his little house of horrors I knew that he wasn't just going to let me go. If you knew Johnny the way I thought I knew him, you would know that he is a very determined person. And if you knew Johnny the way I've come to know him, through the wrong end of a knife blade, well, you'd know something was not quite right in his attic (and we're not just talking pest control up there).

Then, suddenly, the feeling stopped. I went about my business for days without feeling his eyes on me no matter where I hid. Maybe he had given up? I thought. Maybe he killed himself? It was entirely possible, and despite my fear of and loathing for what he had become to me, the idea brought out a twinge of pain. But just a twinge.

Could I really dare to leave my apartment after all of these months in seclusion? Against all better judgment, I did.

I had long since lost my job at the bookstore because I no longer had the guts to leave my apartment. I had been living off of savings and the charity of my roommate. I didn't go out to look for a job, I was hardly ready for that, I just wanted to test my ship, which really felt more like a tiny row boat at this time. I swallowed and shook and went in and out of cold sweats for over an hour before I worked up the courage to even touch the doorknob. I closed my eyes and opened the door as fast as I could, afraid I'd lose my nerve.

To my surprise and relief that the English language, especially in its current degraded form, could not hope to express, no knives shot into my body when the door opened. I was not slashed or gutted or maimed or shot. I was merely standing alone in the hallway outside my own door. Even the dim lights of the hall seemed to be the shining of some heavenly chorus after months in my dark seclusion. Tears stung my eyes. I could find freedom yet.

I closed my door and walked slowly down the hall passed the other rooms, moving like I was in a trance or seeing something from a very old dream. Nothing. When the fat psychic lady from down the hall abruptly slammed open her door and began screaming something incoherent, I hit a wall of adrenaline and spun, delivering a large, painful spray of mace right to her bloated eyes. She screamed and fell to the floor, howling and rolling in pain. After the panic died down with a few deep breaths, it was actually quite amusing.

I continued down the musty hallway without a backward glance, slightly more confident thanks to my obviously adept mace wielding skills. Still, I had to force my self to open the door of the apartment building.

I stepped into the dying- no that is a _very_ bad choice of words right now. Let me try again. I stepped into the fading afternoon sun and was nearly floored by the brightness of the outside world. If the weak light of the hall had been heaven, the darkening light of the real world had to be some kind of one hundred million watt hell. Despite pain and cursing, I was alive. Would I still be if I dared to walk a block or two? I wondered.

Moving half-blind through my blurry dream world, I made it to the closest corner, crossed the street, and walked to the next. There were no eyes burning into me, the street was only filled with your average jerks going to and from work, the pub, etc. I remember testing the weight of my backpack every few steps to make sure the twelve cans of mace in it were still there. At first it seemed so light, as though it would never be full enough to give me any peace. But as I got farther and farther, became a little braver, I became aware that it was actually very heavy.

It was at this time as I was becoming aware of my burden, that I also became aware of my surroundings. I had made it seven blocks from my apartment and was now standing in the middle of the small park near the city center. I slumped down onto a bench, tears quietly running from my eyes. It was a moment of sheer relief and a small victory. I must have sat there for a quarter of an hour, just smiling up at the sky like a fool while a few of the local crazy hobos that slept in the park stared at me without blinking. I didn't notice them until one of them began yelling at a black clad figure in a tree above him a little ways off. I made out very little of the ranting, but enough to know the hobo was quite upset and that the figure was not really paying him much mind.

"Shmoo! Leave my wife alone creepy happy man!" The hobo yelled at the man in the tree (his "wife" was actually just a disgruntled squirrel that was chirping in an annoyed fashion at the intruder in its tree).

The man in the tree ignored them both as though they were not even there, swinging his legs in a content way while apparently sucking on a brainfreezy. After several minutes of the hobo's yelling he finally looked down at him. "Meow." He said with a smile, and went back to his brainfreezy.

The hobo twitched and began yelling again. "I don't care if you are the creator of Happy Noodle Boy, spooky squirrel boy! Get down or I shall call upon my friends from the French Revolution! Viva la France! Mange pousson avec mio!" At this point the obviously crazy hobo began slobbering and barking like a dog between splurges of fractured French.

Happy Noodle Boy? Wasn't that the comic that Johnny had told me that he drew and distributed to the crazy hobos in the city because they liked it so much? A familiar and agonizing dread gripped me as I suddenly realized who was in the tree. I stood, though I don't remember standing, and began to back up slowly. I must have knocked over a trashcan or something because the next thing I knew I was on my back and every one in the park was looking at me, even the man in the tree.

"Devi…?" Johnny said, wide eyed.

And I ran. I panicked, forgot about my cool and my backpack full of mace and ran. I didn't have the guts enough to look back. I felt my heart sink and knew that he had jumped out of the tree and was running after me as the hobo howled like a wolf at the glowing sunset. He didn't call after me again, didn't try to slow me down, he just ran after me at a maddening pace. He finally yelled my name when I was almost hit by a car as I tried to dart across a busy street. But I didn't notice the car, the street, or the traffic. All I knew was that I had to get away.

I ran until my chest burned, my lungs felt useless and like they were full of broken glass, but I knew Johnny hadn't stopped at the street. I heard him jump from one car roof to another and nearly land on an old woman with groceries who responded first by screaming and then by swearing at him. I saw the street in front of me jumbled with flashbacks of the night I had gone on my first and only date with the maniac now chasing me. I remembered all the things I hadn't noticed at the time: The noose hanging in the corner from the ceiling of his living room, the blood stain half hidden under his couch, the red and brown mold along most all of the edges of the walls, and the low, constant moaning from some distant buried room in a far away place under the house. But most of all, I remembered how fluidly he had come at me from across the room, joy in his smile and my spilt blood on his mind, with two curved blades in either hand. There had never been anything so… frightening, for lack of a better word (Remember, the English language). What could he want now but the same? I had to run, but I was running out of strength. The only other thing to do was hide.

Up ahead of me we the old library. No one ever went there and the way to it was all but forgotten really. I had lived within walking distance of it for most of my life but never been there. I hoped Johnny didn't know it any better than I did as I pushed myself to climb the short stairs to it without slowing or tripping. Strange as it may seem, I could swear I was watching myself from outside my body as I threw myself at the huge double doors. It was a long moment and I can still feel the pound of every footfall and the ragged breath catching in my throat as I stumbled into the grand old building, suddenly surrounded by what seemed to be a world within a world of forsaken literature. It would have been sadly beautiful if I had had half the mind to care at the time. Panting, I dove for the cover of the labyrinth of books…

Author's Note: Woohoo! Short and crazy! Sorry if the style didn't match the same way, but Devi isn't like Liza or Johnny, so her writing style would in theory be different anyway. If this is starting to look like a normal fan fiction, please e-mail me so I can fix it P. And yes, my dear sadistic fiends, friends… whatever, the next installment will be from our darling maniac's perspective. Review please. I need all the advice I can get… seriously. Love, or not, Grim.

Betas Note: Once again this Author amazes me. With the exception that she is blonde and "scary" you can't help but just look at and say "Does she like cheese? Wait… wrong thing… oops… does she have a double brain of sorts in her "attic" or does she have a one Jhonen Vasquez locked in there naked except for a small leather… better stop myself before the dirty heterosexual thoughts come into my mind.


	3. Chapter 3

Chapter Three: Familiarity

By: Johnny C. (Hi there!)

Many strange things will happen to you at any one moment once in a while during you life, no matter how normal, abnormal, crazy, or generic you may be. You will find that some of these very busy moments will be very happy for you and that you will enjoy them immensely, others, you will find, are not very happy at all and that you would rather be bleeding from your eye sockets rather than be a part of such a moment. It seems every time I see Devi anymore, this is exactly how I feel. I suppose that is my own fault though, after all, I did try to kill her.

At a particularly busy moment in my life, Devi happened to reappear for the first time in months. After the whole, you know, killing/getting my butt kicked by the only woman that was anything but disgusting to me… thing, I had decided to give her some space. I tried calling her once to apologize, she didn't really say anything, though I don't think she was listening either, and when I was finished pouring my heart out there was a moment of uncomfortable silence.

"Devi?" I asked, trying to assure myself that she was still there, that she had heard me, because I knew I couldn't go through the trauma of trying to tell her again for a while. The only thing that responded was the click of the phone being placed back on the receiver.

I could have been hurt by this, but I decided not to be. I could have been angry with her for not listening to me, but I decided not to do that either. I could have cried out in anguish or raced over to her apartment to kill her for certain this time or I could have just stared at the phone in my hand for several hours, thinking about her and wondering what would have happened if I had ducked when she had gone to kick me in the head. I decided to do the last thing, seeing as the other things all seemed to be a little crazy. I think I came to the conclusion that I would have managed to get one of my knives into her torso and she would have bled to death. Suddenly, I realized several things: First, that Devi was not just afraid, she was also very angry with me. Second, that, even though I wanted to see her more than anything in the world and set everything right again, I was not going to get that chance anytime soon. And third, that I had left the skettieo's on the stove again and my kitchen was one fire. How very unpleasant.

In the months that followed that horrible, one-sided phone conversation, I went on with the rest of my life. I wrote in my Die-ary, I visited the little neighbor kid Squee, and I killed people, painted my basement wall with their blood, hacked up their bodies and buried them in my back yard. Everything was normal; it just wasn't as pleasant with the gnawing knowledge that Devi hated me.

I suppose nothing of this kind should have been vastly surprising. Have you been to the cemetery outside of town? I only went there once to see how ceremonious normal people are with their dead. Do you know what I found? A bizarre headstone that said something like lost loves were as good as dead. It was so powerful that I admit that I went home and cried.

I went into the bookstore where she worked every once in a while, but instead of her there was this new clerk, some gay guy with a funny accent that would hit on me every time I tried to ask about Devi. He didn't work there for very long. A gunman in a mask came in and blew his head off while holding the bookstore up. I was there, I could have stopped him, but I decided the guy with the gun was the lesser of two very annoying evils in my life at the moment. It was funny.

I considered the idea of going to see her and determined this was not the smartest thing to do. I also toyed with the thought of seeing her without letting her see me, i.e. stalking her, but that's just creepy and I decided against it despite what she may believe. I may be a bi-polar manic-depressant with overbearingly homicidal tendencies, but I know how to respect a person's space.

On a night when my work in the basement had been most productive, I made up my mind that four days without food was long enough. I grabbed my coat and jumped out my back window and walked to the 24/7 for a brainfreezy. If you don't know what a brainfreezy is you are either under privileged and I'm sorry, or you are a moron who needs a few less-than-sane lessons in life through a bendy straw and a hammer. Sorry, I don't know where that came from, probably the same place everything else in my head comes from, wherever that may be. Heh, I am funny.

Anyway, brainfreezy in one hand and knife-soaked-in-store-clerk's-blood in the other, I wandered in the sick red glow of the setting sun. Someone once told me that a sunrise is the most beautiful thing you will ever see in your life, but sunrises are depressing, they mean you survived another night when a perfectly good handgun sat staring at you from the coffee table all night. Stoopid. But lucky for me and anyone who might have crossed me in a state of unaccommodating angst at being alive, it was not a sunrise and there was still hope for the evening. I wound up in the park near the old library down town. I visited the park all the time, either to pass out new copies of Happy Noodle Boy to my hobo friends or to pick up Squee after his parents left him there again. I swear, if the child had any sense at all he wouldn't be so thankful for the gesture. But any help I lend delays the last cord of his sanity's slipping, which, I believe, is something he will never be aware enough of to thank me for.

But, again, anyway, I was familiar to the park, but not too much of the surrounding area. Even at night the streets of the inner city were full of assholes that I would have to come in contact with in order to explore. I didn't want to know the city well at such a high price.

Have you ever been to a park before? Just to sit there? It's nice. It's peaceful because the crazy homeless people of the city scare away the fainthearted jerks that might otherwise ruin a perfectly enjoyable evening.

Why do I keep rambling? I dunno. Maybe Bob knows. Probably. Elm! That's right, I climbed a tree on a whim to see more of the park. Random, I know, but we call upon silly whims to make choices for us every day, right? … I'm getting the feeling that you're starting to look at this story funny… it displeases me. Just remember that.

The view from the tree was not vastly better than on the ground, but that didn't matter, I had a brainfreezy and hours to kill before I went home to attempt killing myself again. I think that Senor Diablo was getting annoyed with seeing me so much lately.

I was, for a brief moment, content, sucking my "cherry doom" and staring up at the tainted sky. Then that annoying squirrel showed up. And its pet hobo. I tried to ignore them, which was easy considering I had taken this particular hobo's incoherent rants before. He was one of the more critical readers of Happy Noodle Boy but he always had great suggestions for future issues. Just to bug him I quoted one of Noodle Boy's simpler statements, "Meow." This further angered both hobo and squirrel and for a moment I thought they both might try jumping me, but they're crazy, not evil, even though there is this one hobo that is always thirsty for corn, likes to steal people (reference: IZ, I hear Jhonen won an award for that!), and has this thing about pig demons. Hmm, yeah, I'm fairly sure he's crazy.

More rambling! From only yards away there came a loud clang of a trashcan being tipped over, but not usual sound of one being tipped over so a hobo could rummage through it, just tipped/fallen over. I looked up of course. It was Devi… Even to think about that statement is still chilling to me. I must have said her name aloud, because she bolted like _she_ was the maddened one, again, funny. I don't remember speaking her name; actually, I don't remember much of anything until I reached the library steps. I know I didn't try to stop her, and I know I didn't pull out any weapons on her… But other than that, I don't recall anything about the chase.

I remember tripping into the library but Devi was nowhere to be seen. The maze of books seemed to have swallowed her up right in from of me.

The space was vast and utterly silent. I couldn't even hear Devi's footsteps as she still likely ran through the library. I looked around at the marble floor, hoping to see footprints in the thin layer of dust on the floor, but once again, the ones I perused were lost among others, mine and one other pair that crossed this way and that over and over again. They had to be the librarian's because no one else ever came to the library. Maybe the literature dictator of this forgotten realm had seen Devi.

I turned and walked backwards every few steps, just in case Devi tried to surprise me. I didn't want to hurt her, but I was in a library, it would be rude to yell that out, not that she would believe me. I came to the librarian's desk and leaned over it, making sure no one was behind it, then rang the small cobweb covered gold bell on the desk. It gave a sharp "bing" that reverberated through the huge building. There was no answer. I hit the bell again, to dispel the creepy quiet of the place. Again, nothing happened. So I took to hitting the bell repeatedly until the individual rings became lost in a loud stream that echoed on and on in the immense emptiness. It was kinda fun!

"Can I help you?" A collected voice asked in my ears. I halted my hand above the bell, letting the noise die away to see if the voice had been real or if I was just hearing move voices than usual. "I say again, can I help you?"

The voice was real. I spun to find a dust-smeared woman looking down at me from the second floor balcony. She was nothing like the woman I was looking for. She was only medium height and build with blonde hair and gray eyes that matched the dust that pocketed her unusual clothes, which looked like a femme version of early 1800's male dress, especially the floor length split tail coat. I only mention all this because it made me want one.

I must have looked surprised because the librarian raised an eyebrow at me before heading for the stairs to come down, brushing off some of the dust as she went. "I'm sorry to be found in such a condition, but I'm afraid that I only just reopened the library and things are not all as they should be. But I am here to be of aid to those who seek. Now," she said as she stood behind the desk with her hands behind her back. "What is it that you are seeking?"

(A.N.- Chase scenes are annoying and hard to write. The black out in Johnny's memory is and example of a technique that Jhonen uses when there's nothing to fill the space, it's called LAZY WRITING! It doesn't do much for the story but it's two AM and the coffee is wearing off… sleepy…)

Betas Note: Well it is school time and I am supposed to be doing work, but me and my not so very good grades don't really give a flying eff. Decided to edit a story and see what people will do when they read about Johnny & Co. while sneaking peaks at my computer. 9:13am and I NEED COFFEE!


	4. Chapter 4

**Chapter Four: The Labyrinth **

**By: Liza Dei**

For some ungodly reason, you have not given up on this dreadful story. I pity you, really, I do. In the timely event that this story should end here due to some horrible tragedy, just remember, I warned you from the very start.

In the days that followed my arrival at the library, little happened. I made attempts to beat back the dust with little success. The war seemed to be overwhelming and I slowly became aware that the library was not on my side. Every time I thought I had wiped a shelf or straightened a case, the whole lay out seemed to shift by its own will and what should have been clean was no longer clean. Instead, other shelves in other patterns were where all my hard work had been, as though the rooms changed at night while I was gone…

Of course this is quite the insane notion and thereby not possible. Still, when one is left alone too long, one does wonder what the mind does see and what it merely thinks it sees. The line between was not entirely clear by the time that my first guests became involved in my story. Maybe it was only the dust on my glasses, but there were sometimes shadows within the shadows of the library, but if I called out or sought their audience, I would find nothing. Passing strange, but reoccurring strange.

This is why when I heard the doors of the library flung open one evening, I was not inclined to move away from my work on the second story near the balcony. I must admit, I was trying to keep close to the center of the library because the "changes" I mentioned were fewer and less profound there. I didn't go to check the door for two reasons mostly, first, the fact that I thought I was hearing things, as I seemed to a great deal since coming to the library, and second, because I feared the shelves would rebel again and I would be lost.

But when the bell on my desk began to ring, I was obliged to answer. Upon coming to the railing of the atrium, I discovered the figure ringing the bell was quite real, if a little odd. It was a young man, no more than twenty-five at my guess, clad in black from head to toe in a rather disheveled and unkempt style. Even his black hair was long and hung in his eyes. It was not until I called out to him and he turned to face me that I got a good look at him. He was pale, which made my heart leap for most literature lovers in these pop-culture days are very pale and this gave me hope that maybe a few had survived through the years of teasing and beating that high school laid on the brainy. But as I drew closer on my way down the stairs, I began to sense the obviously sleep deprived and malnourished man was not looking for a book. I had been right.

He nervously and uncertainly told me that a young woman had run into the library in fear of one of the local insane transients (wouldn't we all?), and asked if I had seen her. I could only shake my head.

"No," I said. "I'm afraid that if you hadn't rang the bell I wouldn't have believed that anyone was here at all. We don't have many patrons right now, none at all, actually."

The man seemed to understand, but was insistent on his missing lady. "I want to speak with her. She's frightened after all and I want to be sure she's all right."

This statement was what got to me. I was growing to distrust the library and its pathways. I knew the routes that rarely changed and tried to keep to those for now for lack of nerve, but this girl had run in blindly, trying to get lost on _purpose_ and I was sure that the library would be happy to assist her in that goal.

I had nodded. "I understand. Please, wait here." I told the man, heading for the intersection of TRAVEL and NATURE on the first floor where the survival guides were found. The dust was still thick enough on the floor for every step to leave a footprint, perhaps enough to track with. I returned with the book to find the young man sitting cross-legged on my desk, amid the scattered useless library maps and scattered paperwork, staring up at the chandeliers in a wonder similar to my own when I had first seen them. Seeing me, he smiled sheepishly and muttered a quick apology before jumping off. I smiled, and then quickly buried the smile in the book to avoid letting him catch it. I flipped the pages as he waited until I came across the specifics of tracking. I scanned a few lines, grabbed the useless maps of the library and began to search the floor for unfamiliar prints. My guest did likewise after checking both his steel-toed boots for prints and mine. Of course the steel toes in my boots are on the _inside_, unlike his, which had an appearance of something gargoyle-like. I rather liked them.

As we set off following what seemed at first to be a very distinct set of tracks though what seemed to be a very distinct pattern of bookcases, I felt, or rather I thought that I felt, the whole library heave slowly, as if taking a deep sigh, or dampening a laugh. I, as well you would have too I hope, passed this off as my own anxiety getting the better of me. After all, when was the last time an old building burrowed its way into your brain and began to play with you mind until so many things were warped and snapped that you couldn't make heads or tales of a normal situation? I should have asked Johnny while I still had an expert on the subject around before things went awry. But then again, being the unstable and untrusting fellow that he is, was, um… whatever, he probably would have snapped on me, thinking I was making sport of him for something I clearly could have had no idea this related to his life at all. If you don't know what "making sport" of someone is, turn off your computer and go cuddle your dictionary in the corner for a while, bathing in your own ignorance and the shame of it, you twit.

Now, if you were paying attention, you will recall that these strange happenings began near sunset, as so it was as my male companion and I began to track the missing lady in the jungle of literature. It became very dark very quickly in some places, in others, it was inexplicably bright as day, right in the middle of the library. I had not thought to search out a flashlight, or any guild light for that matter, because I disliked staying too long in the library at night, when the shadows were more solid. So, I really had no reason to know if there even were any portable lights in the library. Stumbling over a loose book lying on the dusty floor, my tracking partner voiced his concern, or whatever you'd call it, over not having a light.

"There's no way we'll be able to find Devi at this rate! Don't you have some flashlights, or candles or something?" He asked.

I sighed, putting down the book and maps on a table close by to rest. As I did so, my hand brushed a filthy old oil lamp, the kind your grandmother may buy when she makes you go antiquing with her. I blew on it, disrupting the dust on and around it, then took my pocket-handkerchief to the rest. Wiping away the rest of the grime of years, I found it a lovely light stainless steal and etched glass, with oil and wick still usable inside. If you know anything about fire safety, you know libraries are not as prone to fires as they once were, thanks to sprinkler systems and the use of electric lamps. Before things became safe in libraries, we used oil lamps.

"Sir," I asked over my shoulder, bidding him closer to look upon our luck. "You wouldn't happen to have a light on you, would you sir?"

He nodded his head of pale, drawn skin and black spiky hair and produced a book of matches, nearly empty, from his coat pocket. He looked uncomfortable as I took them, as though sickened when our hands touched in the exchange. He drew his hand back quickly and tried not to let me see how he rubbed it in irritation. "My name is Johnny. I don't like to be called "sir." It's far too sanctimonious to me, in a mock and half meant way I mean. Just call me Johnny, or Nny for short, because you're helping me. That means you can't be all bad."

I returned his matches after lighting the lamp while he spoke. "Yes, well, however you feel most comfortable. I don't like to leave poor impressions on people, especially over something so easily adjusted as a name or reference. Nny, was it? Thank you Nny," I said, holding up the light. "I believe you have just saved our expedition. Though I do wonder…" I did not finish my sentence, which is a rude thing to do, but I didn't mean to say it aloud in the first place, so I assumed it didn't matter.

Johnny said nothing about it, seeming to be use to rambling. With his approving nod, we went on, following a trail we could now at least see.

Unfortunately, even with the light we soon found that we had actually lost the tracks we had been following sometime earlier and that we were now simply wandering between the philosophies of the Greeks and the Macedonians. Johnny, upon realizing this, turned right around to march back the way we had come in irritation.

"I don't see how this could have happened!" He said, his voice a mixture of concern and venom. "We only just saw the last step and now we've lost it! How far could she have possibly-"

Johnny did not finish his sentence, though I was in about the same mood he was and cared little enough for where he chose to end his statements. Then I realized why he had halted. My guest and I had turned right between two bookcases after leaving the table were we had found the lamp and left the maps by mistake. Then we had turned left at the end of the case and walked up a center isle for some feet and gone to turn another corner when we realized the smudges on the floor were not the footprints we were seeking to follow. Johnny had turned around to go back the way we came, counting the cross isles back to the one we had come from, only to find that it was not there. Instead of the narrow isle that lead to the turn and the table, there was a bookcase that stood perpendicular, or cross T to the ones on either side of us. Behind this bookcase, was a very solid brick wall.

It was all I could do to contain myself. The library had done just what I had feared it would do. I turned to Johnny, looking for a reaction. He approached the wall slowly, running a hand across the dusty shelves to be sure they were real. He turned back to me, calm and looking thoughtful.

"Has this happened before?" He asked quietly, as if suddenly remembering that he was in a library, or trying to conceal the conversation from someone else.

I could only nod.

His gaze slid from my face to the shadows the oil lamp threw about us. "How often?"

I shook my head, my voice lowered by instinct to imitate his behavior. "Every," I coughed due to the dust. "Every few hours or so. There is no schedule by which to… to…" But there were no words for it, so I left off again.

Johnny held out a hand to take the lamp. I left him take it. "I'll lead." He said shortly, without a backward glance at the shelf, the shadows, or the mystery.

A/N: Ooo, creepy! What is really happening in this library? How can Johnny be so calm? And how is our dear Devi fairing in the labyrinth? Read on! Review!


	5. Chapter 5

Chapter Five: Walls That Move

By: Devi D.

When I first bounded into the old library building, my only thought was to hide. Nothing could be worse than being chased by a maniac bent on killing me. But you know what? I was wrong!

The library was vast, I could hide anywhere, but I wanted to be buried deep, deeper than even Johnny would follow, so I picked a direction and ran. I passed the librarian's desk without seeing anyone who could help me, or a phone by which to call the police. Why I even looked, I don't know. There are two very good reasons that it wouldn't have made a difference: first, that I wouldn't have had the time to use it, and second, the fact that the police are drooling morons that have yet to even find Johnny's address. How hard can that psycho's house be to find! I gave them all the information they needed months ago and here I was hiding in panicked dread of the freak they should have caught months, even years ago when he must have started killing people.

In any event, to think of this now still brings on chills. There was a pattern to the library; so many rows of shelves would pass until you reached a longer shelf that would block your way. You could choose left or right and go around and keep going. I learned this pattern and ran on it, turning constantly away from where I had been in the hope that I would not see it again until my pursuer was lost somewhere far away from me. The pattern was set in stone, how could it not be? There were far too many books to be moved and surely the shelves were too heavy. I ran into one when the pattern… began to falter, it didn't budge or rattle. I only disturbed a little dust was all.

Twelve rows down then a right or left. Duck between the rows every so often. Was that the echo of my footstep or someone else's? Did that shadow just move? Was that twelve or thirteen? Fourteen? Where is the turn? Everything became blurry after I had been running for twenty or more minutes. I though I was tired, and I was, but I thought that was all, I was wrong. I sat with my back against the end of one great long shelf, trying to dampen the noise of my own ragged breathing. I must have looked fairly pathetic there, sitting like a terrified doll blinking back tears of regret. I regretted ever having gotten close to Johnny, only to have found in him some demonic figure of blood lust and misguided genius. Perhaps misguided is too nice of a word. I can still see myself sitting there at any rate, my backpack beside me on the floor; I'm covered in dust and sticky with sweat. I was a bookend out of hell.

I'm still not sure how long I sat there. I never at the time felt the need to look at my watch. When I got up I did so slowly and quietly, straining to hear if there were any sound that might betray something human behind the last shelf. There was nothing. To be safe I looked around for the most unlikely course to take. I found a spiral staircase to the second floor after some wandering. I had lost the place where I'd sat down but didn't notice, nor did I notice I'd forgotten my backpack. The panic was dying down a little, though it still controlled my every movement, it was slowly replaced by a surreal numbness that I could never hope to explain. I still worried about Johnny finding me, I still thought about the best way to lose him and get out, maybe skip town later that week. I still knew that sweat was rolling down my temples in beads and my lungs were rebelling against my movements and the dust that thickened the air, where did it all come from anyway? I knew all of these things, I was just not aware of them anymore. There was a blanket of passiveness that had been draped over my consciousness that I today still cannot understand. I feel, even now, that if I reached out with my mind, it would still be there, folded up neat in the corner, soft and inviting and tangible somewhere in deep though, smiling back at me. I don't trust blankets anymore.

I drifted up the stairs in a lazy spiral, almost surprising myself when I found their end. I was suprised to find instead of more bookshelves, rows of filing cabnets on this floor. It looked darker and dustier than where I had started, if that makes any sense at all, which it doesn't but the fact remains. Really, as far as I knew, filing cabnets were usually kept in the basements of libraries or in back rooms away from the public space. What was kept in these hidden files I had never cared to guess. Just book cards I supposed, maybe a dead mouse in one that hadn't been opened in a while. Why would they be up here? There was no point in wondering. This place was weird already, this was just more proof.

Sadly, it didn't appear that the cabinets would provide much cover in the event that Johnny was still searching for me. I turned back to where I had left the spiral staircase, because I hadn't gone very far into the web of shoulder high cabinets before thinking that I was still experiencing electric shocks when I touched door knobs and that drawer handles were unsettlingly similar to door knobs. I found though, that where I had thought there was a stair well to take me back down stairs, there were only stairs to take me up to the third floor.

Was I that tired? Had I really come down stairs thinking I was going up? Nooooo. I knew that wasn't right. What the hell happened! I know I didn't wander far from those stairs. Maybe this was just a set that looked similar that led to the next floor. Even so, it nagged at me. It nagged more than my publisher from my job illustrating for Nerve Publishing. I couldn't even focus on how irritating that was at the time because I was in the middle of a panic attack. "Calm down, Devi." I kept telling myself as I started away from the stairs, looking back over my shoulder often to be sure they were still there. It was ridiculous, and I told myself that too but after discovering several minutes later that I was talking to myself, I promptly shut up and began to wonder more about my sanity than my surroundings. By this time, I really should have known better.

Muttering only occasionally, I continued past the filing cabinets and further into the gloom, still looking back over my shoulder from time to time, even if I could no longer see the stairs.

A/N: I took stupidly long to finish this chapter and it has yet to be betaed, but I'm posting it for the sake of keeping any fans that might still be patient with me. Review for crying out loud people! I'm trying to figure out how things are going. Just let me know if this plot is developing too slowly.


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